E. Seymour - House of Lies - A gripping thriller with a shocking twist

A division of HarperCollins Publishers

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Killer Reads

An imprint of

HarperColl‌insPublishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2017

Copyright © HarperCollins Publishers 2017

Cover layout design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2017

Cover photographs © Shutterstock.com | Cover design by Books Covered 2017

E. V. Seymour asserts the moral right

to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is

available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are

the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to

actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is

entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International

and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

By payment of the required fees, you have been granted

the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access

and read the text of this e-book on screen.

No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted,

downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or

stored in or introduced into any information storage and

retrieval system, in any form or by any means,

whether electronic or mechanical, now known or

hereinafter invented, without the express

written permission of HarperCollins.

ISBN: 9780008240851

Ebook Edition © March 2017

Version 2017-07-04

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page A division of HarperCollins Publishers www.harpercollins.co.uk

Copyright Killer Reads An imprint of HarperColl‌insPublishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2017 Copyright © HarperCollins Publishers 2017 Cover layout design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2017 Cover photographs © Shutterstock.com | Cover design by Books Covered 2017 E. V. Seymour asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins. ISBN: 9780008240851 Ebook Edition © March 2017 Version 2017-07-04

Dedication For John The father of our children.

In the Beginning In the beginning D awn breaks and the body of the boy is almost imperceptible in its still-grey light. There are no obvious marks upon him, no apparent cause of death. His eyes are closed, lids tinged Delphic blue. His body, which is small for his age, curls in the way it once did in his mother’s womb. Safe and warm. Now dreams he once dreamt lie smashed around him like falling stars. Not for him a future of bright city lights or rural anonymity. No rough and tumble with the lads. No jibes thrown or hurled in boozy pumped-up heat of the moment. No lover awaits him. No marriage or hope of becoming a good old boy and passing on a legacy through his children and their children. For him there is no tomorrow. From this moment on he will be forever in the dark.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

In the End

Acknowledgements

About the Author

About the Publisher

For John

The father of our children.

In the beginning

D awn breaks and the body of the boy is almost imperceptible in its still-grey light. There are no obvious marks upon him, no apparent cause of death. His eyes are closed, lids tinged Delphic blue. His body, which is small for his age, curls in the way it once did in his mother’s womb. Safe and warm. Now dreams he once dreamt lie smashed around him like falling stars. Not for him a future of bright city lights or rural anonymity. No rough and tumble with the lads. No jibes thrown or hurled in boozy pumped-up heat of the moment. No lover awaits him. No marriage or hope of becoming a good old boy and passing on a legacy through his children and their children. For him there is no tomorrow. From this moment on he will be forever in the dark.

Present Day

It kicks off the moment Tom spots his photograph in our county magazine.

“For God’s sake, how the hell did that happen?”

It all began with a party at Lily Gin’s, a popular cocktail bar off the Promenade. Free booze. Ear-bleeding beat. Everyone hollering. The local newspaper I work for has a sister magazine that held a joint bash there for advertisers and the great and good of Cheltenham. Their way of saying ‘thank you’. A roaming rookie photographer snapping folk glad-handing is the source of Tom’s ire. It’s strange because he isn’t confrontational or quick to anger. Not chilled, like me, but quiet and mostly silent with an undertow of edge that I find a bit Darcy-like and dead exciting. Tom blowing his stack isn’t a thrill at all; it’s worrying.

Personally, I think how nice he looks. “It’s a great snap.” It really is. The picture isn’t posed. We are deep in conversation. Slightly turned away from the camera, the scar at his temple that makes him look dangerous and sexy is more prominent than usual; dark-blonde beard neatly trimmed; his nose with a slight kink at the bridge, full kissable lips close to my cheek. For once we are captured together, which makes a change. Anyone viewing my photo album for the past few years could be forgiven for thinking I’m single.